


Eyes Like Glowing Embers

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bathing, Dire Situations, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, James is like Davy Crockett, M/M, Survival, Survival of the Fittest, Wilderness, Wolves, animal death and violence, hunting/trapping, i've gone fucking Jack London on y'all, not really that graphic with violence but i tagged it just in case, peach verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: James thumped his head against the tree and closed his eyes, trying to rest. He never thought he would end like this. He could almost laugh.





	Eyes Like Glowing Embers

They were both starving.

The only commonality between them, he figured. He shifted in the oak tree, trying in vain to get less uncomfortable. His rear and his legs ached but all he could do was to shift his weight from one thick fork of the tree to the other. His hands were shaking. He kept balling and un-balling his fists to alleviate the shaking. Though the air was cold it wasn’t the winter chill that had him trembling. It had been three days since food had entered his belly. He couldn’t be certain but it had been perhaps eight or so hours since the shaking had begun, following hours of his stomach growling mercilessly, guts gnawing over nothing.

He ran his fingers over the dead rabbit tucked inside his coat and looked down at the wolf.

It followed the movement to his coat, eyes like glowing embers. It alternated between pacing and sitting around the base of the tree, looking hungry and tired. The thing must feel as exhausted as he did.

__________________________

**Three days before**

He had first noticed them not long after he’d arrived at the traps he and Thomas had set, intended for medium or large-sized prey—a deer, preferably—to help them through what the townsfolk were calling the coldest winter in two decades. It was about a day’s journey out into the woods to reach the traps. They’d been told that’s where the best hunting was and thus far they’d had success.

“Whoa girl,” he muttered to his horse, halting her and turning her around before she saw the wolves. He tethered her to a tree branch and climbed a small hill some distance from the wolves, staying low to the ground.

It was as he had feared. The trap had been sprung and the wolves had found it—a buck—and had killed it. Yet the animals’ muzzles were unbloodied and the deer still very much intact; they had just begun to feed.

James saw only four wolves, all rather small save for what had to be an alpha male. From what he could tell they were all males also. It must have been a breakaway group, probably with no territory to themselves.

They looked lean and hungry but skittish, all except for the dark-colored alpha with eyes like glowing embers.

He’d brought extra bullets, enough to spare one or two for the sake of still getting the buck. He was certain the smaller males would be frightened by it and would dash off. If the alpha proved as brave as he looked James would fire a second shot, aimed at him.

He rolled over in the soft dead leaves and packed his shot, still staying out of view and being mindful of the rabbit hanging from his belt, caught in the first snare trap a hundred yards earlier.

He rolled back over and took aim. He fired the shot over the deer’s corpse. It cracked and echoed with the intended effect. The wolves instantly turned heel and fled. The alpha, however, raised his hackles and came back around.

Frowning, James rolled back over to pack a second shot. He’d finished prepping and glanced up to check on his horse, afraid that the wolves might have gotten the scent of her.

The attack came from his left, blindsiding him. He jammed the end of his rifle into the mass of snarling fur and teeth, hitting the wolf in the jaw. It was the alpha.

He held the rifle sideways just as it attacked again, snapping for his face. Blocked by the weapon, the alpha instead grabbed James by leg and shook his head fiercely, trying to tear. Pain shot through James’s limb. He let out an angry roar and hit his attacker hard in the gut, once, twice.  The alpha fell over the second time. James scrambled into a sitting position and took aim. He pulled the trigger just as the beast jumped at him, its snarling like a sick toothy grin. It yelped. He’d hit it in the side but he knew it wasn’t dead-on.

He climbed as quickly as he could to his feet and cried out at the pain there. The damn thing had injured his leg more than he’d thought. The smell of salty iron wafted to his nose as he half ran, half limped away. Already he heard the alpha snarling behind him. He jerked his hunting knife out from its sheath. It was wide and flat, with a curved tip, made for skinning, but it was sharp.

The thing was close behind him. James whirled around and swiped at it with the knife back and forth. At least it seemed to understand a blade. It halted its advance, licking its nose and still showing all its teeth, hackles raised. James saw it was pissed, infuriated at him even.

He turned and ran again, his leg screaming at him. He ignored it and quickly hauled himself up on the branch of an oak tree, then leapt into a thick, wide fork that sprouted from its base.

The alpha wolf’s jaw snapped at his feet. It raised up on its hind feet but yelped, no doubt because of the gunshot wound. Yet it tried again, its teeth snapping just inches from James’s boot. James thrust his foot out and kicked it in the muzzle. The alpha didn’t yelp. He glared up at James, snarling and growling deep in his throat. James looked around him and through the branches of the tree. He could see no other wolves in the vicinity. The second gunshot had no doubt kept them from returning to the alpha’s aid, though he wasn’t certain how long they would hold off.

He tried several times to prop his rifle up against the tree and nearly lost it to the ground, cursing. At last he found a way to wedge it between two smaller limbs above him. He dug into the pouch at his belt for more ammunition. His heart stopped when his fingers grasped at empty leather. He jerked open the pouch and looked. Nothing. Frantically he searched his coat and even his boots, hoping for a stray bullet that had not fallen out when the alpha had attacked him. There were none.

He thumped the back of his head against the tree and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus. He reopened them and looked down at the wolf. It was growling sporadically, licking over his nose and pacing back and forth, staring up at James like the prey James realized he was.

He looked back the way he’d come and saw no sign of his horse either. Of course she’d seen and heard the wolves after the scuffle and had broken the tether to flee. James grimaced, clenching his teeth together.

He could attack the beast with the hunting knife, jump down over it and stab it wherever he could, then hopefully deliver a killing blow once it was down.

He untied the rabbit from his belt and dangled it over ground to entice the wolf to where he wanted it, knife poised in his other hand. The alpha came forward, growling more but clearly interested in the dangling meat. Yet as soon as James raised the knife the beast backed away, snarling. So the fucker was smart.

He could always just jump down without the element of surprise, but the longer he eyed the wolf the less confident he became in that plan. The thing was _big._ He figured its head easily reached his waist. And it was pissed, hungry, and wounded.

More importantly, even if he managed to kill it he was a day’s journey out from the cabin and he was wounded himself. The other wolves would likely smell his scent and return, sensing his weakness.

James shifted in the tree. The alpha’s ears turned and he growled. James sneered and glowered at him, hoping the animal could sense just how angry _he_ was.

 

Now, two days later James’s eyes were burning and tired but he glared at the wolf with more hatred than he’d felt at another living being in a long time. It would sit and even lie down, licking the gunshot in its side, but it would always face him. The moment James moved significantly in the tree, the thing would snarl and stand, ready to make a move.

“Fuck you,” James spat at it. His voice was rough and gravel-like from disuse. He knew he needed to jump. He _had_ to jump and to try something or he was going to die up here, starved to death, treed like a fucking raccoon by a hound. Perhaps that’s what the damn beast was waiting for.

The thoughts of Thomas he’d been pushing away finally broke through as he was dangerously close to despairing.

_“I shouldn’t be gone for more than a day, two at most.”_

_“All right. I’ll have everything cleaned and ready for whatever you bring back.”_

_James moved to step outside the cabin but Thomas grabbed him by his belt and pulled him back in._

_“Ah ah, you’re forgetting something.”_

_“I am. Forgive me.”_

_Bright blue eyes dancing over his face, lips smiling. James couldn’t help but to smile back. He knew for a fact he had smiled more around Thomas than any other person, living or dead, in the entirety of his life._

_He took Thomas’s face in his palms as Thomas pressed them together for a kiss. It was slow and passionate. James still marveled at how their beards still managed to tickle the other’s skin just a little._

_“I’ll miss you,” said James, kissing the space between his eyebrows._

_“I know,” said Thomas with a cheeky smile on his face, though his eyes were full of calm reverence for his love._

James exhaled another breath of cold air and watched it vanish. The day was gray and overcast, enough to where he could not know the time of day more precisely than to know it was the afternoon.  Surely by now Thomas knew something was amiss and had gone looking for him. He knew where the traps were; they had learned how to navigate the New World’s wilderness together. He knew. He would come.

He was so fucking tired. And hungry. Another tremor shook his hands. His stomach felt shrunk somehow. As a mariner most his life (royal navy and otherwise) he’d heard plenty of stories of rescued men whose stomachs had gone so long without proper nourishment it was weeks before they could eat a regular meal. Had that already begun to happen to him?

He looked down at the alpha, licking its wound, eyes glancing up at him every so often. He shifted in the tree again, trying to lean as much of his weight as he could against the tree’s trunk to take the pressure off his feet. He should eat the rabbit, he knew. It was raw but he could do it. Yet it was the only piece of leverage he had. If he waited just a little longer the alpha’s instinct to survive would overpower its want of revenge (or whatever reason was causing it to stalk him) and he could throw the rabbit. Hopefully the beast would run after it and devour it—ah, but it would take only minutes for a wolf that size to eat the guts of so small a meal. But perhaps that’s all the alpha would want and it would leave him alone?

James shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus. No, that was wrong. His fucking horse was gone. He’d have to walk back and something told him that without a mount the damn wolf would keep stalking him. After all he had been bleeding (was still bleeding?) and his scent was in the air. And he felt that the wolf’s friends were still around as well. He should wait for Thomas. Or wait to die. Whichever happened first.

James thumped his head against the tree and closed his eyes, trying to rest. He never thought he would end like this. He could almost laugh. He recalled his words to Silver once: _I have survived starvation, a tempest, pirate hunters, jealous captains, mutinous crews, angry lords, a queen, a king, and the goddamn British navy._

He’d survived all of that, only to be treed by a single wolf and left to die in the wilderness of Northern Florida. How absurd. But no, he would not die in this tree. He would jump out and fight the goddamn beast to the bitter end. He’d spent most of his life believing he would die in battle, first as a naval officer fighting off the Spanish and the pirates, then as a pirate, fighting off the entire world.

And then he’d let himself imagine he might die next to Thomas, fighting nothing and no one but wrapped in warmth and love.

In the stark, gray light of this day he took a deep breath and sighed, cold air filling his lungs with little comfort.

He _wanted_ to die next to Thomas. Thomas had even voiced the same to him once, not long after their reunion. The honorable death of an officer, the honorable death of a pirate, these things meant nothing to him anymore. There was only Thomas.

His eyes fluttered open as a coughing fit gripped him. His throat was parched, dry and like sandpaper with no water for three days. He swallowed his spit until he settled.

The wolf watched him.

They’d had a good run together, hadn’t they? The two of them. The _three_ of them. Everything ached when he thought of Miranda, but he still remembered the love there and of all those times in London…

James fought back tears. He glared at his tormenter.

“Fuck. _You_ ,” he said in the voice of the Seven Furies, seething and malevolent.

“More time. We were supposed to have more time this time,” he said out loud. He was panting. He felt weak. His leg ached. It was time.

He repositioned himself in the fork of the tree, hunting knife in his fist. The wolf stirred, then stood up and growled.

“Come here you sonofabitch,” James growled back. He dropped the rabbit corpse at the base of the tree. The alpha’s eyes followed it, then snapped back up to James.

“That’s it, you know you want it.”

It came forward, growling more with each step, but James saw the desperation in the glowing ember eyes. When it had stepped close enough to the tree James leapt. He grabbed hold of its neck and plunged the knife but it only sliced skin as the beast flung itself violently back and forth, shaking James off quickly. Then it was on top of him. It had gotten a mouthful of sleeve in its jaws and was tearing into it as hard as it could, hell-bent, but James’s skin was untouched. Still the sheer power of the beast was overwhelming. James kicked at it, boots slamming into its thighs. The knife went into its side this time; he felt the resistance of meat and bone and the thing let out a long yelp but kept attacking. James cried out as its jaws snapped over his arm this time.

A deafening crack rang out and echoed. The alpha’s body suddenly dropped, a dead weight over him. The constant snarling was replaced by his own heavy breathing and the fading echo of the gun shot. James blinked and struggled to shove the wolf’s body off him. There was bootsteps through the leaves, hurrying.

Thomas’s face filled the void of the gray sky overhead of him. He pulled the wolf off James and James’s hand shot out, eyes bleary, as Thomas grabbed him and pulled him into a sitting position. Then Thomas was down on both knees, the second rifle dropping to the ground as his arms went around James.

“Oh god! Oh fuck, you’re alive!” Thomas sobbed into his neck, kissing it.

For long moments James could only hold him tight, one palm pressing into his back and the other cradling the back of his head as he wept quietly, tears burning down his cheeks.

They rode back on Thomas’s horse. Thomas had brought two days’ worth of bread and jerky with him, all of which James had devoured by the time they reached the cabin in the wee hours of the next morning.

*

He peeled more than took his clothes off, as dirty and stained as they were. He had some trouble with his pant leg catching over his wound just above the ankle. Thomas helped him, gently shaking them off and placing them into a discarded heap with his shirt and then his underclothes.

Thomas immediately examined the injury, cleaning it with a cloth.

“I don’t think anything is torn too badly,” he said. “Though there is one deeper laceration, here.”

He very gently touched the tip of his finger to the indicated area. James winced and nodded. Thomas carefully wiped away the worst of the dirt and debris there, then helped James to hobble over to the small metal tub of warm water. As soon as his body slid down inside it the air punched out from his lungs on a long exhale. The bites on his leg stung briefly before fading.

“Just relax,” said Thomas, sitting down beside him with a sponge and soap.

“I can still clean myself with a few scrapes on my leg,” James drawled out. "And one of us will need to go hunting again." 

"One of us will."

"And I lost all my bullets so I'll need to make a trip to town--"

“Shut up,” Thomas said softly.

James did so, in no mood to argue as the warm water softened his muscles and felt better than a down-filled mattress. He let Thomas rub soap over him, section by section, then squeezed and rubbed the sponge there to rinse. He let his eyes slip closed for just a minute but found himself falling asleep almost instantly. He snapped awake to Thomas’s heart-aching smile, watching him. James leaned forward so he could get his back.

“Now up,” instructed Thomas.

He was loathe to stand—everything felt so good—but he did, standing in the tub as Thomas proceeded to scrub and rinse his legs, mindful of his wound.

“Out,” said Thomas, putting down the sponge and soap. James stepped out and onto an old deerskin that served as a towel while Thomas retrieved one of their good towels for his body.

He dried off and made for their bed, stripping off the towel and all but collapsing on the bed.

“You’re exhausted,” said Thomas. “Get some sleep. I’ll be—”

“Here,” said James, forcing his tired eyes open. “You’ll be right here.”

He stretched his hand out to the space next to him. The aching look returned to Thomas’s face as he wordlessly complied, stripping off everything but his breeches and scooting in next to James. James nudged him to roll over. Thomas did. He tried not to weep as James immediately molded his body into Thomas’s from behind, beard tickling his neck as he slid his arm over Thomas’s waist, hips and thighs all pressing against him, his hand finding Thomas’s and curling their fingers together.

“When I die I want it to be just like this,” James whispered in a half-awake slur.

“That would be fine with me,” said Thomas, eyes closing and a smile on his lips.

 

***

  


 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So according to wikipedia there weren't any gray wolves in the southeast US ever, but there are for this fic so thanks for the suspension of disbelief if anyone knew that was wrong, lol. Also I don't really know jack about hunting and trapping but I hope I was specifically vague enough on the subject? I've loved the idea of James and Thomas being frontiersmen almost since the beginning of writing peach verse, but this is one of the only fics I feel really explores that to a fuller extent. (Because I also love most of my peach verse fics that has them more connected to Savannah Town and their adventures there <3). Anyways thanks to whomever reads, I hope you enjoyed. :)
> 
> The title comes from the song "In the Company of Wolves" by Incubus. ;)
> 
> Leave me comments and come say hi to me on tumblr @iwt-v.


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